'Offer it to Tretchikhin downstairs. He collects that sort of thing since his wife left him.' He winced, as if his tongue had returned to an abscessed tooth. He attempted to smile, and added, 'Send in the duty-team from yesterday - let's see if they have anything slightly more out of the ordinary.'

'I would have thought this was pretty . . .' Maxim began, but Pyotr dug him in the ribs with his elbow. They took with them the cartridge of slides and the recorder.

Vorontsyev knew the girl. She was often used for the amusement of high-ranking officials or officers like Ossipov. Strict medical and security checks - one of a small, exclusive coterie of professional tarts, unlike the enthusiastic amateurs such as Natalia Grasnetskaya.

The second duty-team was also young - Ilya and Alevtina; he called all his juniors by their first names. He had begun to suspect that his tone had changed, become slightly ingratiating, not preserving the distinction in rank.

'Well ?' he snapped, at the young man and die girl, recent transfers and still much in awe of their new power. 'What have you two to report ?'

Ilya, ostentatiously consulted a black notebook. 'Do you want the lot, Major - or just the edited highlights ?'

'Thoroughly, whatever you do.' He turned again to the window.

'The general passed the morning at the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts,' Ilya summarised. 'As you know, Major, he has a personal collection of ivory and jade statuettes - he spent a lot of time inspecting the Egyptian collection this time . . .' Vorontsyev nodded. 'He visited the Hermitage collection in Leningrad many times, before he was transferred to Far East District...'

'Yes. Go on.'

'He was alone throughout this time. Before lunch, he took a taxi to the Alexandrovski Gardens - he walked there, in the sunshine, until he lunched at the Metropole in Sverdlov Square. We..'. have an expenses claim ...' he finished lamely.

'For both of you ? Was that necessary ?'

'Just for - one ...'

Vorontsyev knew they were lying, but it did not matter. They would learn that expenses were come by the hard way, or not at all.

'And the afternoon ? he asked.

'The Tretyakov Gallery - all afternoon.' The young man sounded bored.

'You must learn, Ilya, that not everyone is as much a Philistine as you are. I'm sure the tour of the gallery was good for you.'

'Yes, Major.'

Alevtina said, 'Sir - is all this getting us anywhere?'

Vorontsyev thought for a moment. He was not on the point of describing his conversation with the Deputy Chairman late the previous night. He said simply:

'It all may be of the utmost importance. Always understand that, both of you. We don't get called in unless it's already a serious matter.' He looked at them both in turn, until they signalled their understanding. 'Very well. Let's see the films.'

He twitched down the blind, shutting out the leaden view from the window. His interview with the Deputy had been urgent and short. He had to find something - apparently, there was something very nasty to find, and he had to find it - no, he could not be told what it was he was looking for - and he knew then that they did not know; but it did exist, and Ossipov was a possible suspect. So were the other officers they had been watching on their periodic leaves in the city. Men from every military district, none of them below the rank of regimental Colonel.

The light dimmed, and the cartridge case clicked. Pictures of Ossipov in swift succession passed across the screen. Bending to look at an oriental statue, the collector's greed dear on his smooth, heavy features. In the gallery, face lit by the glow from illumination above a huge canvas by Repin - then bending to an ikon, almost in worship.

Then the Gardens, the features pinched by the cold, bathed in the pale sunshine; his back to the camera as he paused to speak to a woman, to raise his dark hat...

Vorontsyev looked at Ilya, who shook his head. He waved his hand, and the monochrome procession continued. Even entering the male toilets at the Metropole, after lunch.

'You checked?'

'He left nothing but his urine,' Ilya replied softly. 'Do you want to see the rest, sir ?'

'Not if they're all like this.'

The beam of light died, and Vorontsyev tugged up the bund. Ilya turned to face him.

'What official functions has he attended in the last four days?'

'None, sir. He's on leave.'

'What about the officers' dubs, that sort of thing?

'We could only get in their officially - you didn't want that.'

'No, not yet.'

'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'This operation, sir ?'

'Yes, Ilya?'

'Is it - look, sir, are we looking for evidence to get rid of aim, or is there really some specific thing we have to discover ?'

Vorontsyev glowered, then smiled and nodded.

'Very well. As far as I can see, it isn't just for the sake of it. Not one of those operations. He hasn't offended. No, it's for real. Something is going on, and it's probable centre is the army, and high up. We're supposed to find something - a clue might be enough, a few names. At the moment, we don't know who or what. Clear ?'

Both seemed relieved, as if they preserved some vestige of private conscience which had to be appeased.

Ilya said, 'Thanks, sir.' Alevtina merely nodded her agreement.

'Good. But it would be useful to find out who he met, talked to, in the clubs. You got a list ?'

Alevtina handed him a sheet of paper on which was scribbled in the hand of the KGB man who doubled as a waiter at the principal Moscow officers' club, the names of the men to whom Ossipov had spoken. For SID - even when the officer was an attractive young woman rather than a bully-boy - for the blue ID card, he would have watched, and noted, without question. Vorontsyev glanced down the list. One or two generals, old acquaintances being watched by other units of the SID, one or two junior now or previously under his command.

'Vrubel ? KGB Border Guard - Finland border. Is that odd, or not ?'

'Vrubel. We wondered that, sir. We checked. His father was an officer with General Ossipov during the war - killed near Berlin, in the last days.' The girl was concentrating on the conscientiousness of her tone. Vorontsyev thought she might not yet have lost her sense of herself as a woman in a male-dominated elite. To him, she was one of his junior officers.

'I see. Does Vrubel frequent army clubs very much ?'

'Don't know, sir. I think he came by invitation this time -the General's invitation.'

'Mm. Leave it for the time being. What other contacts, of any kind?'

'A cousin, sir. Vladimir Ossipov, an official in the Foreign Ministry. Not very important. He called on him and his family, just before we came off duty yesterday. He's a fanatical Party member, is Vladimir.'